


Rosethorn and Reichsritter

by Adjudicato



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, RWBY
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Assassin Ruby, F/F, First Time, Poetic, Templar - Freeform, Templar Weiss, Whiterose, old english
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adjudicato/pseuds/Adjudicato
Summary: The two women—Templar and Assassin—stood in the alley, lips pressed tightly together, for only a handful of moments before they parted. One was entirely lost to the flood of excitement and emotion, both literal and figurative, while the other was just now discovering something that had been growing unacknowledged for years. And in only a few minutes more, both would find themselves foes no longer. For the duration of the night, at least.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between myself and another who, unfortunately, does not have an account I can link here. She can be found on fanfiction.net under HellHound0. That said, this work is a one-shot unless she decides otherwise. Enjoy if you can, and I say thankya for reading.

Rosethorn & Reichsritter

A RWBY/AC Crossover

By:

The Caretaker

 

Λ

**_So look into the mere, Last Rose of Summer, and see one of the Strings I have seen. Another world, another when, another Fate. For you both_.**

**_And is it not good?_ **

 

I

 

As far back as history cared to remember it was always the same goddamned nonsense. Templars and Assassins, fighting over the same half-eaten apple. A poisoned apple too, so far as one particular Assassin was concerned. Whether to live in relative safety and prosperity at the cost of freedom—ala the Templar way—or whether to forego the guaranteed in exchange for the capability to live as one saw fit. She’d always liked that second one, so was it any surprise she was drawn in by the shadowy Assassins?

Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Those words were her bread and butter, her every breath. They sealed the deal for her joining and promised her continued adherence—so long as it stayed that way, of course. Take what you want and believe nothing? She’d sign _that_ dotted line any day. And so what if her intervention in the thread of history happened to be beneficial to her fellow man? So what if her blade sank into the throat or spine of a particularly horrendous individual, doing something good before she simply did what she wanted? She joined to rein her life once more into her own hands—was that freedom not the very foundation of this order?

And oh, how she did partake of that freedom. Theft from those that deserved it. Death to those that needed it. A little wine here, a little herb there; a man to warm her bed one night, a woman to warm her soul the next. Take a job and slay some ne’er-do-well—spill his blood on the thirsty ground—then get _paid_ , of all delicious things, for the pleasure. Take another and fetch some needed document—for some war she cared little enough about—while helping herself to whatever else caught her eye in the interim.

What’s more, it wasn’t as though those pesky Templars were something she hated or feared. At best, they were simply fools in too much armor, with swords simply too long to be helpful. But at worst, they were little more than easily escaped nuisances. Here in Cologne, with its mazes of streets and the constant flow of traders, few could even keep their eye on her for long. Aside from her speed and agility, these many obstacles provided the perfect break to line of sight.

But, there was that _one_ Templar. The woman that looked only a tad older than herself, who nearly cornered her in the market just beyond the High Cathedral of Saint Peter.

What had she seen in those nigh-glowing blue eyes when they met hers, in that moment before she found her out and took it? What had she felt in her thumping heart when she saw the animalistic rage hidden just behind those jewels? Or when she saw just how tight the woman was clutching her thin rapier?

_Something_ , none could gainsay this. And, whatever it was, it was _damn good_.

 

II

 

Reichsritter Weiss Schnee von Cologne. That was her name now—her title and her pedigree all wrapped into one, put forth for the wretched masses to grovel under. Was that not how things were meant to be? That the meek live under rule of the strong? That the weak serve their betters?

Yes, indeed it was. That was why she had become a Templar, after all: to help show the world that giving up something as small as your freedom was worth it to rightly follow the natural order. The guarantee of safety under the yoke of the Great was easily worth the loss of so minor a thing as free will, or free thought. Why not, in any road? The meek were too base to decide for themselves, the weak too lowly to see their decisions through. The strong and Great were there to do these things instead, and all that was asked was subservience.

Yet, this pompous Templar had left her home—far off in Vienna, where her father yet remained—to avoid a very similar dogmatism. König Jacques Schnee von Vienna was ever the vehement dogmatist of the Church, something that, even as a Templar, the young Weiss held some few reservations about. And while the irony and hypocrisy of this was not _entirely_ lost on her, she did as much as possible to put it from her mind.

There was, after all, an _Assassin_ to deal with. In her city, no less. Calling this a thorn in the young Schnee’s side would have been so far beyond an understatement, t’would border on sarcasm.

But, all thoughts of this annoyance aside, Reichsritter Weiss had no particular concern about the little pest. Already she’d caught wind of this Assassin’s presence, and she knew herself to be nothing if not the apex of the human form. Female or not.

How many men had she bested when taking the trials of the order? How many louts had she put to the end of her dear Myrtenaster, the pompous fools then reduced to sniveling messes?

No, she was an Atlas among her order—an Adonis in her own right, as it were—and would brook neither claim nor thought otherwise. Until, that is, the day she had _met_ that pesky Assassin. Until the day she’d stared into those silver eyes, devoid of fear or caution and filled with excitement and heretical joy. Until the day she’d been denied her worth, losing the little wretch in the market just beyond the High Cathedral— _her_ High Cathedral—and having no recourse but to give up the chase.

For the nonce, at least.

Even in this one defeat, Reichsritter Weiss had no doubts of herself. She would continue her Templar duties—hunting the heretical, outing the deviant, mopping up the heinous and putting all these to sword or gallows or flame—until the rat showed herself again. And Weiss knew she would, as ilk like the Assassins are wont to be found where nothing good was going on.

Could we get an Amen?

 

III

 

It was far beyond midnight and the second bell had just finished its haunting ring. The slums of Cologne were finally all but asleep—only the ne’er-do-wells and such ilk were left making any sort of noise. An occasional house could be spotted with a candle burning somewhere in its topmost room, putting the faintest yellow glow through the mostly glassless windows. In these were the only decent folk who yet remained awake, or so the young Reichsritter told herself.

Reichsritter Weiss Schnee von Cologne was one of those ne’er-do-wells still up, though she’d never think of herself as such. Nay, for she carried the light of the Templar—both figurative and literal, as she had a small lantern clutched in one hand—and was on the prowl for a _particularly_ nasty individual, as was her divine duty. This man, one Roman Torchwick, had had the gall to set up shop in _her_ city, pedaling his ill-gotten goods and undercutting the fine men of business therein. For this had he garnered the Reichsritter’s attention, and for this would he be brought to the gallows. If he decided to come peacefully, that is. If not, well…

Myrtenaster _was_ getting thirsty.

Weiss patted the silvery blade in its jeweled scabbard, smiling to herself as she approached one building in particular. Its front was blackened brick, its roof a finely slanted conglomeration of birch and pine with faded green shingles. Two windows framed the front door, which was also a faded green and made of birch. Behind them glowed the faint flicker of some few candles.

As she approached, the candlelight lit Weiss’s breastplate with a golden hue. The same went for her shoulder-cape and the rest of her implausibly polished armor, where it faced the windows as she came upon the building. On her back where only the moonlight found her, the Reichsritter looked like walking silver. Especially so her hair, which was the snowy-white of fine silver without the help of the moon.

She placed one foot on the small set of stairs leading up to the door. A flash of something red caught the corner of her eye, and Weiss turned to her left to see. Covering her lantern, she peered into the moonlit dark.

Then she saw the tail-end of _her_ cloak, and was off and around the corner of the building only a moment after.

 

IV

 

When she was growing up, far off in the endless poppy fields of Holland, Ruby Rose would never have believed it if one told her she would one day become the world’s most bloodthirsty Assassin.

In those days of innocence and play among her loving family, the girl’s mind was only on being the best daughter and sister possible. To see the smiles of her mother, to garner the hugs of her father, and to longest enjoy the company of her sister. Then came the plague. It took that wonderful family along with most of her village, casting the survivors to the four winds and setting the girl loose to wander.

If not for the horrors beset upon her after that, the girl likely would not have survived that first winter after the plague. But she was found and taken in, by men of evil heart and ill repute. The things they did are unspeakable, the burdens set upon her by it unthinkable. Yet, a light did eventually shine through that dark. A light of order, of solidarity, and of family of a different—but just as close-knit—kind.

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted._

Those were the words of her saviors. These saviors would soon become her mentors, and not long after, her new family also.

She took to their ways well, as her life until then had left her jaded and remorseless. And though they did not see eye-to-eye with her on everything, these Assassins did see the potential to serve their cause within her. So, they trained her—long and well and on every subject they had—until she was ready, then loosed her upon the world.

She became the best among her Assassin peers and started on her crusade to take what she liked, to ease the burden of what had been stolen from her.

In time, this crusade led her here, to this place—to this moment—in the slums of Cologne under the midnight moonlight. Stalking a certain man of ill-gotten goods and disreputable favor. One who would become the latest on an endless list of those who had fallen by her hidden blade. Or _any_ blade she could get her hands on, if it so came to it.

And it hadn’t taken her long to find him, so sloppy a crook was this Torchwick fellow. The pigeon had brought the message three days past, she had read that message and now stood just outside the door to his hideaway.

But… was that the sound of footsteps?

Yes, and unmistakable ones at that. They were feet shod in armor, what with how they clacked against the cobbled streets. Oh, Ruby could tell the person wearing this armor was trying—desperately—not to make noise, not to draw attention. And then it hit her.

_A Templar?_ She thought to herself, smiling.

Ruby turned left and leapt onto a wall, scrambling up the side with all the speed her lithe frame could muster. Once she reached the roof she turned to peer over the edge. There she watched a familiar figure step from the shadows and toward the building of the fool, Torchwick.

As the moonlight painted the figure’s back and the candlelight from the building painted her front, Ruby saw she _knew_ this Templar.

Same silver hair that reached almost to the back of her knees, same eyes of such blue they reflected the candlelight without losing their color. Delicate-seeming (but undoubtedly resilient) silvery armor that glowed as though lit with its own luminescence, and a shoulder-cape over her left arm that drifted lazily on the little breeze in the street. Then, at last, she spotted that sword.

Having a sudden idea—and upon observing the deadly look of that blade once more—Ruby began to scale down the other side of the roof. She reached the cobbled street beneath, rounded both corners so as to face Torchwick’s hideaway again, and watched her new target but a moment longer. The Templar was just in front of it now, only a few feet from the short stairs leading to the faded green door.

Smiling to herself, Ruby darted behind Torchwick’s building, making sure she didn’t move _too_ fast. She waited there, at the front of the alley between the hideaway and her former perch, for a few moments. When it seemed the Templar wasn’t going to follow, she picked up the tail-end of her cloak and tossed it out—so it would pop just beyond the hiding edge of the wall—then bolted further into the alley.

Already she could feel the heat of excitement between her legs as she scaled her way onto an overhang just above the alley, then lay prone to watch for her prey.

 

V

 

Weiss ran off toward the alley without care for the clatter of her sabatons. If that slimy ilk Torchwick managed to slip away, she would simply find him again—so long as he remained in her city, and thereby remained _her_ problem—and put him to the flame then. Or perhaps the torch, as it were. But this Assassin was a different story. The little wretch could not be suffered to live any longer than she already had, and the Reichsritter was more than willing to usher her to the gallows.

If Myrtenaster didn’t find her first, of course.

The alley was empty and motionless when Weiss first looked upon it. Her icy eyes crawled over what little rubbish lay within—a couple old cider barrels, by the look of them, and some few broken boxes—before her feet began to carry her further. Careful steps forward, watching for the slightest twitch in the shadows and listening for the faintest rustle.

A creak resounded from somewhere. Without showing any sign of fear, Weiss calmly set her lantern at her feet and withdrew Myrtenaster from its sheath. Again, she peered into the dark of the alley, watching for any sign of the little rogue.

_Was that the wind?_

The Reichsritter felt the faintest puff behind her and was slow to turn on it, thinking it no more than an errant shoot of the wind from the street. But when she did turn, it was silver—not the pale blue of the moonlight—that filled her vision. And just beneath that silver, a smirking mouth.

“Gotcha.”

It was that rogue, and by God and the Virgin Mary was she _fast_. Weiss brought Myrtenaster up to thrust, but somehow managed to miss. The woman sidestepped her and got behind her. Weiss expected a dagger in the back, but felt nothing until the rogue’s weight fell upon her.

“Aren’t you _scary_ , Miss Templar?” The rogue snickered.

Weiss pushed out her butt to throw the rogue from her back and spun to thrust Myrtenaster again, missing once more when the imp simply sidestepped just as before.

“That’s Reichsritter Schnee to you!” She spat. “And I suggest you surrender yourself to the mercy of the Church, unless you’d rather I run you through!”

The rogue giggled—a tickly, impish little chitter—and flashed a snarky grin.

“Think you can, Miss Templar?” She taunted.

And with that, Weiss lost her cool. She lunged forward, jabbing repeatedly with her deadly blade, its silvery form whistling with each stroke, until she had the rogue backed against the far wall at the end of the alley.

Still the rogue smiled, and still further the Reichsritter’s temper flared. She grabbed the collar of the woman’s gambeson and pushed her against the wall, rearing Myrtenaster back and readying for the coup de grace. All the while, that snarky grin never left the rogue’s face.

“May the Father and the Holy Virgin take pity upon you.” Weiss whispered, but was stopped dead-still before she could deliver the blow.

What stopped her was ungodly _warm_ against her cold lips…

 

VI

 

Ruby locked eyes with the Templar—a Schnee, apparently—during their entire death-dance. Oh, such fun as she was having must surely be a sin! This Reichsritter was deadly and fast, yet woefully slower than Ruby. So, the Assassin merely danced around her every thrust, purposefully putting up no fight as they went. When she felt her back hit the far wall of the alley, her heart was racing and her mind delirious—but _this_ was what she now lived for.

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted._

Schnee’s deadly glare was simply intoxicating, and coupled with that gorgeous blade, it was sending Ruby quickly over the edge. Already her skin was hot and sweaty, her ample chest rising and falling with manic breath. A few moments more and she would surely lose herself entirely.

With the cold wall behind her and the Reichsritter’s hand wrapped tight around the collar of her gambeson, Ruby fought back the urge to simply melt into that haze building at the back of her mind.

“May the Father and the Holy Virgin take pity upon you.” The Reichsritter said, and when she pulled her blade back to deliver the telling blow, Ruby lost it.

The Assassin pushed against the Templar’s grip and—gently, by some miracle—pressed her feverishly hot lips to the other’s deathly cold. It was like some divine revelation—surely what John the Apostle must have felt when he received his visions, or what Moses had felt before the Burning Bush—and crushed what remained of the Assassin’s cognizance or inhibition.

Ruby let go (come what may) and released herself to the thrill of it.

 

VII

 

When that explosion of warmth bloomed through Weiss’s head, her first thought was: _God, what ambrosia is this?!_ The second that closely followed: _Pull yourself together,_ girl _!_

The second, however, was duly ignored and entirely forgotten. Her heart had been the property of no man for nearly ten years now, ever since she’d turned eleven and found herself promised off by her father. That was the day Weiss Schnee had vowed to become a Templar (for other reasons as well, but this chief among them) and that was also the day she had forsaken the love of men.

Now, the young Reichsritter had held this notion at bay and in check from the moment she had made it. Anytime a young buck would try to court her, she would turn him down and cite her vows to the Church. Anytime a fellow Templar would try to woo her he received much the same. In her station as Reichsritter to the Orthodoxy and Knight-Errant of the Templar, Weiss found this notion helpful and convenient. But, as is nigh always the case, the lack of intimacy had caused a certain… _hole_ to sprout in her heart. Something no vow or prayer could fill, and something that only continued to grow through the years—no matter how she tried to ignore it.

Then… _this._

That wretched rogue and her incessant smiling, even as Weiss readied to skewer her upon Myrtenaster’s silvery tongue, had pushed her to such wrath she had let her guard down entirely. Then, _that_ …

And the thunderstorm that followed…

 

VIII

 

The two women—Templar and Assassin—stood in the alley, lips pressed tightly together, for only a handful of moments before they parted. One was entirely lost to the flood of excitement and emotion, both literal and figurative, while the other was just now discovering something that had been growing unacknowledged for _years_. And in only a few minutes more, both would find themselves foes no longer. For the duration of the night, at least.

 

IX

 

Weiss moved first and threw the rogue back against the wall. Her face was a blushing mess, her bangs hanging loose and messy across her eyes and a thin line of spittle trailing to her chin. Those icy eyes were awash with wroth fury—and something else beneath, which Ruby saw and smiled at.

“What in _God’s name_ do you think you’re doing?!” Weiss all but shouted. She brought Myrtenaster to Ruby’s throat and pressed it into the soft flesh there, cutting just deep enough to release a few pinpricks of crimson.

“Enjoying myself, Miss Templar.” Ruby said through her haze. “You should really try it, you know? Let go and let loose—I can show you _how_ if you’d like.”

Ruby smiled wide and luxuriously after that.

“What I _should_ do is cut your heretical throat.” Weiss answered, seething and only barely holding her hand from doing exactly as she’d said.

She held herself back not for pity or mercy, but for something she saw in those silver eyes. In how they reflected the moonlight, like the tongue of her precious Myrtenaster. Or how they simply _glowed_ with some alluring divinity, like the shroud over the altar at the Cathedral when she said her daily prayers. Oh, there was something there alright…

And she was quickly losing herself to it, part and parcel.

“Well, go on then.” Ruby said, still with that snarky grin. “Do it if you’re gonna, but don’t keep me waiting. I _can’t stand_ being teased…”

Then Weiss felt something odd and she nearly did cut the rogue’s throat. Were it not for her training, the startle of the rogue’s feverish fingers running up her thigh would have surely done it. As she stood there, feeling the rogue’s fingers trail further, staring her down with hate (and something unknown) in her icy eyes, Weiss was amazed to find that she had no inclination to back away. Even when those fingers didn’t stop at the cup of her armored skirt.

“What is it you’re hoping to accomplish, _villain_?” Weiss asked, her own heart now racing, skin growing flush and sweaty.

“Oh… _I don’t know_ …” The rogue cooed, then pushed her throat a little more into Myrtenaster’s edge. Weiss flinched at the sight (who wouldn’t?) and let off a bit on the pressure.

“God, what is _wrong_ with you?!” Weiss cried out, but did not back away.

The rogue closed in just a tad with the relaxing sword, until her face was once more only inches from the Reichsritter’s. Then, in another moment of blinding speed, she pushed her lips against Weiss’s, even as the sword bit further into the soft flesh of her neck. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ruby knew it wasn’t yet a dangerous bite—but nowhere in her mind did she care. She was lost in the ecstasy of releasing herself to this urge.

Weiss broke away from the (cornered?) Assassin’s lips, then dragged her sleeve over her mouth. No sooner than she’d done this, Weiss regretted wiping the taste of the fool’s lips away. _Why?_ She wondered faintly.

“Give me your name, Assassin, that I may know whose soul to pray for.” Weiss demanded, having no idea why she’d worded it so.

The Assassin smiled—still a hazed, delirious, snarky and crazed grin—and stepped closer. When she was close enough, the Assassin leaned toward Weiss’s left ear.

“Ruby Rose.” She whispered, and the Reichsritter shivered.

 

X

 

_Ruby Rose…._

Yes, Weiss supposed, that name did make a modicum of sense. Something about this Assassin before her—half crazed or not—evoked the wondrous sensation of staring at a precious gem. And Holy Virgin, those _eyes_ ; like droplets of liquefied silver the way they reflected the moonlight, threatening to spill over as if with tears. Even with the myriad faint scars all over her face, she looked as an angel descended from Heaven.

_God, what is this feeling?_ Weiss mused over the sensation building at the back of her skull.

The Reichsritter had the Assassin at arm’s length once more, after stumbling back awkwardly from that second kiss. She did not stumble back for fear, of course, but for simple shock over the direction the situation had turned. Looking at her, so many things were running through Weiss’s mind. Too many thoughts to count, too many feelings to pay attention to, and too much heat coursing through her very being.

Now her legs were getting rubbery, her grip on Myrtenaster weakening. Weiss almost dropped it, holding on with but a shaky grasp.

Ruby, staring down the Reichsritter, regained a bit of herself. The haze and heat were still there, clouding most of her mind and sight, but enough of it cleared away that she could think at least somewhat.

“I could’ve killed you.” Ruby said flatly, panting a bit, “But I didn’t. Any idea why?”

Weiss opened her mouth to answer, then shut it promptly.

“Not even a guess?” Ruby prodded further.

When only more silence came from the Templar, Ruby held her left arm out, open palm to the moonlit sky. With the clouds now receded entirely, Weiss could clearly see the deadly device that marked the woman as Assassin. Its intricate clockwork gleamed silver in the moonlight, the blood-stained leather of its guard lit a dark, muddy color.

Then, to Weiss’s amazement, Ruby began to undo the many latches and buckles of it. When all were loosed, the device fell useless to the ground with a loud ‘clunk’. Weiss looked at it for a moment, then back at the Assassin before her, meeting her quicksilver-stare. Something heavy and hot thudded in her chest when she did.

“I won’t mince words with you, Templar. I know they’d be useless against that dogma of yours. So, I ask this instead.” As Ruby spoke this, she held out her other arm and pulled the sleeve back, showing nothing but bare and pale skin. “You said you should cut my throat or run me through—and I’ve made obvious I have no intent to harm you—so, now that I am unarmed, will you? _Can_ you slay me, Templar?”

The Reichsritter looked her over, noting no other weapons of any kind. She thought for a moment they might be hidden, then dismissed the thought. If she had any trick in waiting, the woman was making a poor attempt of it. Still, though… there was that yawning, buzzing, _pulsing_ thing in the back of her head. What in God’s Holy Name could it be?

Before Weiss realized it, having wandered off for a moment in her thoughts, the Assassin was upon her again. But it was an odd thing this time, the way she stood there. With Weiss watching in stunned inaction, Ruby carefully took hold of Myrtenaster’s tongue and raised the tip to press against her heart.

“Will you run me through?” Ruby asked, her voice a sensuous whisper in the dead-silence of the alley. “Or…”

She began to step closer once more. Weiss did not back away, only watched as the woman walked into the needle-tip of her precious rapier. Clutched in a shaking hand, weak with the arrival of some frightful unknown, it did not sink in. Instead it sunk away, offering little more resistance than a sheet of silk.

At last, fighting her racing heart and flushed skin and flagging mind, Weiss’s grip failed entirely. Ruby caught the blade before it could hit the cobblestone and gently set it down, then took the last step to stand face-to-face with the Templar.

“If you won’t run me through, then might you return my kiss this time?” Ruby whispered into the Reichsritter’s other ear.

Another of those strange shivers went through Weiss, running up her spine to the base of her skull and back down to her heels, all in a moment. She shuddered and made to step away, only to find her body mutinous against her.

“What heresy is this you offer?” Weiss protested, weak and quiet.

But was she truly protesting? Was this truly something she had never thought of, or did not particularly want?

Perhaps not with someone as wretched as an Assassin, but the Reichsritter _had_ fancied such imaginings on an occasion or two. Maybe even three, Heaven forfend. It was most certainly something she’d never _act on_ —so she maintained—but the thought was not unknown to her.

_This_ Assassin, though. Well, she was another story almost entirely. Insane in a word; out of her God-blessed mind in a few more. To throw down her weapon and approach a Knight Templar, so brazenly begging heresy, yet not be afraid…

_What are you?_ Weiss wondered as the Assassin continued to stare in silence, in waiting.

_What is this?_

“I know you carry more than just the one sword…” Ruby whispered as she took matters into her own hands once more. The Templar had said nothing for quite some time, only stared at her. Watching perhaps, or wondering. Most likely the latter.

Ruby began to inch her face closer.

“Answer me with blade or with lips. Action either way, as is only right…”

Still Weiss watched as the woman’s face inched ever closer, slowly but surely. Admiring the beauty of her, scars or not. Pondering the meaning of what was now a pounding in the back of her head, moving ever forward as a rolling thundercloud. Waiting, perhaps, for something to happen or not to; whatever was in store.

Then, something did happen. Something broke, to be specific, and all the wonder and unknown it had held at bay for _years_ came spilling into the forefront of Weiss’s mind, there to subdue and free her in the same swift, vicious motion.

Ruby’s lips were less than an inch away when, rather than a dagger in her gut, she felt the Reichsritter’s (now seething hot) lips meet her own.

And it was good.

 

XI

 

The moon was just a bit higher in the sky when that happened. Without a cloud left anywhere near it, the full glory of the satellite lit them with its unhidden splendor. Neither woman noticed it.

In better circumstances and with a clearer mind, Weiss would surely have worried about being seen. Maybe she did, in some small place near the back of her mind where that buzz had first started. The same buzz that was now an undeniable throb, threatening to split her skull with its ferocity if she so much as _thought_ of ignoring it further. But, in the feverish and hungry grip of the Assassin, that was the furthest thought from her taxed head.

_Ambrosia. Rapture. Sanguinity. Bliss. Sovereignty. Yes… Sovereignty at last…_

The Reichsritter set what little was now left of her logical mind to chasing down the various synonyms of these words amidst her vast lexicon. As for the rest, it was far too preoccupied with the source of this feeling. In her own words: _This Rapture._

Ruby was overcome and nigh entirely off guard. Truth be told, she had expected that stiletto—the one she’d noticed on the Templar’s hip, under her shoulder-cape—to be inserted between her ribs. What she got instead was welcome, as it meant her plan was working, but also _very_ unforeseen. Sometime later when the fog of it all left her mind, Ruby would wonder why she’d risked so much for this chance tryst. The answer would never come to her sadly, but is such not also unforeseeable?

In these matters, it is oft little more than the stars themselves that conspire to cross souls such as these—in most any matter besides death.

 

XII

 

Hot and feverish and more than a little sloppy, the two kissed less like humans and more like ensorcelled daemons, frantic to further the experience and savor it in all its hedonism and glory. They smashed their lips together, ignoring the bit of blood that came as a result, lost in their vivacity. Tasting, prodding, exploring, learning—of themselves, of each other, of this new thing so frightful to the Reichsritter—and for a moment forgetting themselves and the world around them.

Neither would’ve known how much time had passed if not for the tolling of the bell, signaling the third hour after midnight. And when that bell removed them from the madness of that moment, both found their lungs burning and their faces throbbing.

Weiss pulled away first, with a loud pop that sounded abhorrent to her sensitive ears. Like the rest of her, they were afire and beyond alert. She did not notice the trail of spittle between the two of them, however. Her attention was instead affixed to the heavily blushing Assassin, whose hood had fallen fully away during their tussle.

_Ruby Rose…_ She thought, blushing a bit harder for some reason.

“Will you end it with that, then?” Ruby asked, her chest heaving and her voice ragged as her breathing.

Weiss tried to answer but could produce little more than a few wheezing stutters. Somehow they had managed to wrestle over to the wall, where not long ago she had the Assassin cornered and ready to be put to Myrtenaster’s tongue.

Weiss looked to the ground, behind Ruby, and spotted her blade. Gently she pushed the woman aside and walked over to it on unsteady feet, her armor rattling miserably loud. Seems it too had gotten disheveled during their contact. When she reached it, Weiss bent down to pick up the silvery rapier.

Then she turned and looked at Ruby, sword clutched tight in her hand. A few deep breaths—five, were one to count—and Weiss settled herself enough to actually speak.

“Would _you_ end it, rogue?” She pondered aloud.

Ruby smiled. It was vicious and lascivious and playful, all at once.

“I would yet see where I may go with it, _Templar_.” She accentuated the last word with a toying wink, to which Weiss’s heart nearly stopped.

The Reichsritter knew little and less of carnalities, even when it pertained to the rightly ordained coupling. Under the vows of her stations and her own misgivings, the mere _idea_ of breaching that order—Divine Father spare us all—had found little enough soil to plant itself, hidden and mostly unknown, at the back of her deepest thoughts. It would be pointless to say that she had no idea where they might proceed from here.

Watching the Templar’s face twist and contort with these musings, Ruby caught on almost perfectly to what was going through the woman’s head.

“I said I could show you.” Ruby offered. Then, after seeing the brief glimmer of curiosity (or maybe hope) in her icy eyes, “Would you see?”

Weiss thought for a moment. After this, she returned Myrtenaster to its sheath and walked to the end of the alley. Ruby thought she would leave, and was surprised to see her peer around the corner instead. The Reichsritter looked down the street one way for a few moments, then down the other side for a few more.

Curiosity burning in her own head, Ruby walked up beside her and stood just behind while the woman repeated this gesture a few times more, muttering something too quietly to be heard. A few minutes of this passed, and Ruby began to grow tired of the waiting.

She leaned forward and blew hot, desirous breath in the woman’s ear.

“God and all the Holy Saints _damn you_!” Weiss hissed after spinning around, her face bloodred with fury and not a little embarrassment.

“The night won’t last forever, Dear Templar.” Ruby answered her.

The fever of it all was still burning well in both of them, despite their relatively collected demeanor. And after a moment more of her mostly fruitless efforts at weighing the situation to logic, Weiss gave in to that fever. She reached out and grabbed Ruby’s hand, then pulled her out from the alley.

A look around and Weiss decided to chance it all—and was it not already one giant chance?

It was the other house that flanked the alley which the Reichsritter settled on. With Ruby in tow, she stepped up to it and tried the door, her mind mostly vacuous with the heated ramblings of her present situation. Perhaps it was bolted or perhaps it was too old and disused to budge, but whatever it was the thing wouldn’t open. Growling in frustration, Weiss stepped back before leaning into her left pauldron.

She’d come too far now to turn back. All of her being sang this loud and honest to her.

The old door came away from its frame entirely when she rammed it, throwing all of her weight into the jaunt. Surprisingly, the only sound that came of this was the shattering of the hinges when the rusted iron gave way. Something behind the door cushioned its fall and stopped any further crash, a miracle neither woman noticed that night.

Weiss turned around and grabbed Ruby’s wrist again, looked deep into her silver eyes and said, “You _will_ pay for this.”

Ruby giggled at that, something she hadn’t done in earnest for quite some time.

“Oh… I certainly intend to.” She answered once the giggle was done.

Wasting not a moment more, Weiss ran both of them inside.

 

XIII

 

Even with the feverish heat and the cloying presence of that throb, Weiss mustered the forbearance to check at least part of the house. Just as she’d assumed, it was a derelict. Not run down exactly, but certainly uninhabited for quite some time. After that, another miracle of forethought. She stopped to prop the door up against its battered frame, only allowing her mind to melt into the situation after that bit had been resolved.

And melt it did when she saw the hungry gaze of the Assassin staring at her, lit by the little moonlight that found its way in.

In a moment, the two were in each other’s arms once again, assaulting the parapets with tongue and lip, vying to assert dominance in this contest of passionate wills. They fell to the floor after only a minute of this, their legs given of energy for the lack of air. When their lips parted, both took a moment to feast on the angel visage of the other.

Ruby admired her chosen’s eyes, first. They were the closest thing to pure blue she’d ever seen, gleaming with will and strength and zeal. Even a sort of hunger, now that persecuted feelings had been released—though Ruby had no inkling of this inner truth of the Templar. After the eyes, she admired the woman’s face. Like hers it had obviously not been keen to the easiest life, left with some few scars aside from the most prominent. Looking on that veritable valley of a scar that crossed the woman’s left eye from crown to cheek, Ruby wondered how that one gorgeous jewel wasn’t blind.

Something stirred in her as well, looking at that pitiable scar.

While the Assassin looked her over, Weiss also admired the woman beneath her. Her face was marked with the obvious signs of beatings long past, never given proper chirurgeon care to heal fully. These did not detract from her beauty to the Reichsritter, however. If anything, they only added to the majesty of her silver eyes, the depth of her raven locks, and the mystery of the crimson tips of those same tresses. As far as Weiss was concerned, she could find not a thing wrong with this Assassin’s face. It was angelic, and she was losing herself ever more within it.

Then, to the amazement of both, Ruby reached out a tentative hand to cup the Templar’s face and ran her thumb along the lower half of that most prominent scar. Her touch was gentle, and the guard on Weiss’s heart shattered as if glass.

“I fear the Lady Templar has seen terrible things as well…” Ruby sighed, running her thumb along it once more.

“Is it grotesque?” Weiss asked, honestly frightened of what answer might be given.

Rather than justify that fear, Ruby gave an impish grin that quickly melted into outright joviality. She then craned her neck to give another passionate kiss, this one only momentary.

“Nay, not at all.” Ruby cooed after pulling away. “You look the part of seasoned warrior, Lady Templar.”

Was this a moment of connection? Weiss thought about that as much so as she could, pondering what few implications of it she could draw to mind. As quick as the rogue beneath her was crushing her defenses and drawing her ever deeper into this bliss, those were few and less by any stretch of the imagination.

“Come, though…” Ruby moaned, wrapping her arms around the Templar’s neck to draw her closer, “You keep me waiting. And I told you, I _can’t stand_ being teased…”

For some time after that the two were locked in yet _another_ bout of the passionate madness, their faces meeting and connecting on both physical and spiritual levels. Ruby was shocked about this, somewhere deep in herself, but let that haze take over instead of thinking on it. This was just supposed to be a tryst, after all—a corrupting of one of those pesky Templars, something she’d done before on more than one occasion.

What, then, was this present situation becoming?

 

XIV

 

_Forsake the flesh and chain it; subdue it henceforth and make it thy own servant. Be not beholden to the wants of thy fallen self, but be uplifted in thy understanding and fortified in thy zeal. Know the improper things that they may be avoided; Recognize the rightly order that it may be upheld, protected with thy every breath til the last._

_Give not into temptation…_

Hands running through her long, silvery hair, pulling here and there. Teeth gnashing lightly, playfully, against her tender neck. Warm body grinding against her, desperate for touch despite armor and cloth between.

_But be invigorated by the spirit…_

Spirit afire, mind aflame, body enveloped in carnal heat. Sweating and panting, struggling for breath between vicious clashes of lips. A pressure building, somewhere below. Beneath the stomach, above her hips.

_And restored in the Faith…_

Sighs and moans, calls for much and more. Tiny cries of elation. Passioned grasps with strong fingers, given such by half a lifetime of climbing and combat. Gentle touches from those same fingers, amazing in their intricacy. _Wandering_ touches, too.

_Order above all: The strong and Great in their place, just as the meek and weak…_

But who was strong here, and who was weak? Who was Great and who meek?

Amidst the soft whispers of ecstasy between bouts of locked lips, and within the ever-stretching minutes of desirous clutching, eager exploration and grasping; Amidst the fondling that was becoming ever more flustered, ever more candid…

Who could say?

 

XV

 

Neither knew this, but when the kisses were no longer enough it was half past the third hour.

Weiss pulled away first, now below the Assassin. At some point during their mad exchange, she had ended up there and found it not the worst thing she could think of. But now, that exchange was not enough. Exploring hands halted by armor and vigorous clutching, clashing, _grinding_ of body to body—effect diminished by the same obstacle— _was not enough._

Ruby lifted herself from the Templar and rolled onto her back, one hand over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. Panting, gasping for air. Head swimming as if in a vortex, the room spinning beneath her infernally hot back.

The Reichsritter lifted herself to a seated position and grabbed Ruby’s hand once more. She lifted the woman along with her, and when they both stood, pulled her into her arms. The kissing and fondling might no longer be enough, so far gone were they both, but it would do until they found a more… suitable place, in which to venture further.

Where, one might wonder? Weiss had no idea—she only followed what little lit path her body showed her, hoping the Assassin would make good on her word and show her yet further. Such subject as this was covered in none of her teachings…

Faces nigh bound to each other, the two stumbled and staggered until they managed to find a staircase. By some miracle or another, they managed to climb it without falling. Until they reached the top, that is. Weiss’s sabaton caught the lip of the final stair, spilling her over.

Ruby caught her, pulled her up, and they continued down a short hallway, stopping every once and again to look where they were going this time. At the end of the hall Ruby spotted a room that looked just right. She took the lead for but a moment, all but yanking Weiss into what was once a bedroom.

They fell into that room, as unconcerned with the world around them as they _were_ concerned with each other and the present circumstance.

“These raiments will keep us from it, you know?” Ruby sighed during a short intermission, wherein Weiss had given completely for breath and withdrawn.

The Reichsritter looked down on the Assassin—once more beneath her—but said not a word. In all honesty, she kept her silence for how long it took the woman’s words to sink in. Once they had sunk in, however, Weiss leaned back and scooted away from the Assassin. Ruby sat up, giggling lightly at the odd display before her.

Weiss wasted no time in undoing the various clasps and latches of her mail, starting with the gorget and working down. When a piece was loosed she simply yanked it off and tossed it, to the far corner of the room, ravenous and nigh thoughtless in her deepening desire. Once she got to her cuisses (the plate skirt loosened but still around her) Weiss stopped dead in her tracks for what she saw, upon looking up from her task.

Being the more experienced of the two, Ruby had wasted little time in removing her own garments. Her gambeson, cloak, kecks and jackboots lay in the same corner as the Reichsritter’s mostly discarded mail. The woman herself now stood almost to the wall, just in front of the room’s lone window. Bathed in unadulterated moonlight, the sight of her floored Weiss wholly.

Top to bottom, crown to toe, the woman was a menagerie of scars and burns and badly healed wounds. Most of these—especially the worst of them—were centered around her stomach and back, but all along her thighs and sides there were similar disfigurements. Wrapped in only her underclothes, it was all there for Weiss to see.

Feeling the Reichsritter’s stare and not knowing her thoughts, Ruby unconsciously curled her arms to hide the worst mutilations of her past. In that moment, she felt remorse (of all things!) for how she had fondled the Templar’s scar, and nonchalantly answered her worry over it.

“Do not hide yourself, Assassin.” Weiss said, rapt and mostly unaware of herself. “They _are not_ grotesque…”

She whispered the last part, but Ruby heard the Reichsritter’s words well and clear. Maybe that was why, when she stood and approached her, Ruby did not shy away. Instead she looked into those icy eyes as the woman came to stand before her, within mere inches of touch.

“Hile…” Ruby whispered, wondering at herself, at her strange actions, her strange feelings. At her strange demeanor all of a sudden, most of all.

With a gentle voice entirely unknown to herself and a kindred knowledge of the woman’s present feelings over such blemishes, Weiss leaned in close to deliver her response.

“I see you well.” Weiss all but moaned into Ruby’s ear.

 

XVI

 

What happened next could not have been unexpected, even by the most chaste layman.

With her answer whispered so lovingly by the Templar, what was left of Ruby’s fretful thoughts simply evaporated as though raindrops upon the sands of a desert. The Assassin unfurled her arms and allowed her body to be fully bathed in the moonlight from the window, and the Templar fell upon her in short order. In her crazed fling, the plate skirt came free and left nothing but simple cotton kecks and sabatons on the woman’s legs. Before long, wrapped in each other and clutching in newfound bareness, even those were removed.

Only two minutes passed before every stitch of clothing that had been on them lay in a disheveled hodgepodge in the room’s furthest corner.

Weiss sat up for a moment, her every fleshly fiber burning with a sensation as new to her as fire to ancient man. She looked upon the rogue beneath her, who sported an innocence of aura absolutely unbefitting of her profession, and could not help but to admire the sight.

Perhaps for her own innocence or perhaps for her remaining propriety, Weiss’s icy eyes were first drawn to the woman’s face. She admired the catlike curvature of her lips, sporting a teasing and wanton grin that was equal parts hungry and nervous. Then those silver jewels beneath the messy head of raven hair, with its bloodred tips and silky sheen, in which tears stood ready to spill. Weiss allowed her eyes to crawl down after that, slowly covering every ivory line and curve of the woman’s neck and collar. When she finally looked upon the ample mounds heaving with urgency and desire, whose summits were pink and untouched by the scars that dotted the rest of her, the Reichsritter lost her breath wholly.

“I see you _very_ well…” Weiss sighed.

Ruby, looking up at her lover for the eve, replied, “And I you, Lady Templar.” A great blush bloomed across her face as she said this.

Still further Weiss’s eyes wandered, drawn now to the horridly marred surface of the Assassin’s belly. Long stretches of puffy scar-flesh and misshapen clusters of burns and brands did not detract from the underlying beauty of her, to the Reichsritter’s eye. She touched one of these scars, her heart thudding when Ruby moaned beneath the virginally gentle contact, then leaned down to plant a single kiss upon it. Burning red flush crept across Weiss’s nose as she did this, and though she knew nothing of what she was doing, she took that moan as sign to go on.

So, she did, moving herself to gaze further still. To where the Assassin’s most precious of secrets lay, covered by shyly crossed thighs and soft raven down. The Reichsritter looked upon this with both wonder and carnal surety, feeling her own respond by growing hot as a forge while something began to dribble down her leg.

As if afraid it would bite, Weiss gingerly reached a hand out toward it. She jumped hard, gasping and crying out her surprise, when Ruby grabbed her hand to stop her. Weiss looked up and met the woman’s gaze.

“Before the Lady Templar takes me…” Ruby entreated, shy and timid despite her usual self, “I would have her full name.”

Weiss was all but gone in her head, afire with so many new and wonderful sensations. When she opened her mouth to reply, what came out was everything. She could not have done otherwise if she’d tried.

“I am Reichsritter Weiss Schnee von Cologne, second child of König Jacques Schnee von Vienna, once Heiress of the Imperial Crown, sworn Reichsritter of the Holy Orthodoxy of Saint Peter’s High Cathedral and Faithful Keeper of the Knights Templar.”

She recited her pedigree in absolute detail, having neither thought nor inclination to do otherwise. Ruby listened, entranced and lost, giggling with quiet joy all the while. The gorgeous Templar looked lost as could be before her, defenseless as a babe and shy as a fair maiden (which was quite spot on) in the moonlight.

Sitting there, giggling playfully at her eve-lover’s words, Ruby looked upon her and admired. Admired the gentle lines and curves of the Reichsritter’s body, which was less soldierly and more a work of divine art. Admired the toned detail of it, surely made so by long and rigorous hours of training, performed for dedication to her cause and unrelenting will to excel above all others. Admired the scars here and there where swords and other weapons of war had left their mark, even still failing to mute the light of this most persistent of Templar. Admired the faint bumps of the woman’s breasts, which seemed to have stopped growing not long after her maidenhood began, whose pink tips stood pert and undoubtedly sensitive amid the cold and eager air between them.

Ruby drank all these details in, then moved to wrap her arms about the Reichsritter’s neck a moment after.

“Come, Reichsritter Weiss.” She whispered sensuously into one burning red ear. “Come, Sworn Templar. Show this Assassin the _fury_ of your Order…”

And with that, Ruby planted one gentle kiss to that ear and withdrew. She leaned back on her elbows and opened up her legs, giving fully herself to the Templar’s wishes and desires. Exposing her most secret of secrets, her chiefly precious flower, for Weiss to discover and learn deeply of.

Weiss looked upon her with eyes that were unbelieving and mind that was only just coming back to her. The kissed ear burned even hotter and her heart felt as though it could beat no faster, but still it did when Ruby gave herself up.

Tender and gentle, the Reichsritter crawled closer on hands and knees until she was just above the Assassin’s waist. Then she leaned down, moving on instinct rather than mindful volition, and looked upon her flower covered so shyly in petals of raven down. Beneath this down, as she drew closer, a heat radiated and an aroma proclaimed itself. It was a foreign scent, but far from unpleasant.

Ruby watched the entranced Templar— _Weiss Schnee von Cologne_ —and only barely held back a scream of elation when the woman’s hot breath fell upon her exposed core. Eager now, and fearful in a manner devoid of perceived danger. Awaiting the touch she had known from many lovers past, none of which had shone a candle near to the brightness of this one by _far_. And for a moment she wondered why this one was so different.

Then that touch came at last, and all thought ceased.

 

XVII

 

Just as before, Weiss reached out her right hand with virginal uncertainty. When that hand drew close, only two fingers reached out to make the final trek to contact.

What she felt was hot and soft and moist as oilskin fresh from the tanner, the down above it like nothing she’d ever experienced. Even the posh bedding of her far-off birth-home in Vienna could hold nothing to its softness.

Ruby bucked unwittingly to that touch, and Weiss looked up, alarmed, to see if she’d hurt her. She’d never done such exploration of even her own body, and was thus concerned bearing such lack of knowledge. But the Assassin’s gentle, welcoming smile told her all was well, so the Reichsritter went on.

She pressed those fingers to the downy cover and felt it, running them through and lightly twisting it, tousling it. It was divine. So, she moved down from there, ran those fingers over the hot flesh beneath and felt of its succulent texture. Weiss looked up again, still running her fingers along the access to complete unknown and heated curiosity, to see Ruby’s vacant and passioned stare. _Go on, it’s alright_ , those silver eyes pleaded.

Weiss looked back to her rambling fingers and pressed further still, entering the undiscovered warmth within that was as hellfire to her cool flesh. And when she entered, Ruby _did_ scream her bliss—though she held back the worst of its volume—and clamped tight on those wandering fingers.

Overcome with some baser part of herself—a portion of her that had made Weiss a most fearsome Templar—the Reichsritter leaned into the clutching core and pressed hard, twisting and spreading her fingers with burning curiosity. She wanted to know what it would do, and she wanted to know what came next. If only barest touch and gentle entry had elicited so much, what could unbridled exploration garner?

Ruby lost herself at this unexpected assault on her senses, rocked forward with her strong abdominals and clutched Weiss’s head. She pulled the woman’s face to her breasts, unwitting and unaware of her action, as her body both protested and welcomed the cosmic flood of ecstasy. It took the biting of her lower lip, hard enough to bleed, for the Assassin to withhold a most violent wail. Not a pained wail, but one of unknown and unimagined pleasure—on a purely bestial level.

There was no knowledge in Weiss’s subsequent actions, only the propellant of inquisitive naivety. Her face to the Assassin’s bosom, Weiss opened her mouth and took the summit of one in. She suckled and began to piston her exploring hand with yet greater vigor, curling her fingers to find every nook and crevice she could, to feel every mote of that heavenly soft flesh.

Ere long, the crest of this intertwining was reached. Weiss’s fumbling action may not have been as adept as those before her, but whatever it was that made her so special to the Assassin saw to it that this was evened out. When this zenith was reached, Ruby clutched her head even harder and leaned over her, drooling copiously with yet another withheld cry of rapture.

Weiss marveled as she felt the woman quiver and convulse, all the while a warmth dowsed the hand exploring. It came out hot as fire and sudden as an autumn storm, surprising the Reichsritter with yet more unfathomed knowledge. And, with one breast still clutched in her mouth, she could feel the mad dash of the woman’s strained heart beneath with her lips. All these things came together and brought another sensation to light within Weiss, startling her as much so as intriguing her.

It burned and throbbed below her belly, above the meet of her thighs, as she felt her Assassin’s rapture. Whatever had been dribbling down her leg before now practically flowed as a river, and the Reichsritter knew she had to taste of this fruit herself.

At last, the wave seemed to recede and Ruby’s grip relaxed. Weiss withdrew herself from the woman entirely, panting and huffing like she’d just been to war. She looked upon her and grinned, manic and lustful, as she beheld the wild mess her action had left of the Assassin.

“You taunt me with the fruit of forbidden knowledge, fiend…” Weiss groaned raggedly, given for breath and hot as with deathly fever. “Let me taste of it too, will you not?”

Now, it was quite true that Ruby had never felt such divine rapture as this. It was also true she had recovered from many a worse experience, however. Experiences that had left her far more drained and far more breathless than this, hard as that might be to fathom.

And so, in response to Weiss’s earnest plea, with her own lustful, Cheshire grin…

Ruby obliged.

 

XVIII

 

Never before had Weiss made herself vulnerable to any. Even if the flurry of combat seemed ready to turn against her favor, she would only double down and press all the harder. The Reichsritter knew no such thing as defeat, had never imagined anything such as subservience or supplication (aside from her duties to the Church and the Order, of course).

Yet, here she found herself. Bound up and ensorcelled so in this carnal gesture, ready to give up everything necessary to taste of the fruit before her. To know it as intimately as she possibly could, to let it in as deep as it could go. Figurative _and_ literal, at that.

Weiss lay back on her elbows, propped up so she could watch the Assassin’s every movement with her icy hawk-stare. Trust did not throb in her bosom, but instead a fire burned there, pushing her onward ever more. Egging her to give up the absolute dominance she displayed in every other facet of her life.

_For this Assassin…_

She mused on that last snippet as the woman drew closer, crawling carefully on all fours just as Weiss had. Not for fear or lack of knowledge, but for the simple want to further entice the already thralled Templar.

“Are you afraid?” Ruby asked, her voice tantalizing and velvety.

“Absurd notion, that.” Weiss answered at once. Though she tried for commanding and confident, she fell just short of pouty.

Ruby giggled at this and closed in, craning her face to plant many small kisses all along Weiss’s thighs. First the left, to its summit, then the right. Then she brought herself to the Templar’s own glowing secret, hidden beneath a faint tuft of what looked like snow, so white was that soft down. She drew as close as she dare, eyes upon Weiss’s unmoving stare, and blew gently on it. The shiver that ran through Weiss’s entire being was visible, so strong and sudden was it.

“Be at ease, fair Weiss.” Ruby purred, her breath tickling the woman’s most guarded secret. “I said I would show you of this, did I not?”

A lump formed in Weiss’s throat at that, and only with great effort did she swallow it away. The anticipation was building hard and heavy now. She could feel something pooling beneath her, warm and unfamiliar. Embarrassing as well.

Grinning wide and impish, Ruby drew one finger up the woman’s right thigh. She traced a line of angelic gentleness from knee to the top, then dipped to feel of the snowy down. All the while, she watched the red, heated throb of the flesh beneath it, unhidden as it was beneath that white mane. Seeing the succulent flow of what was the Templar’s own anticipation, Ruby only barely held herself away from simply plunging in, to plunder whatever secrets yet remained from her long carnal knowing.

After feeling that silky, snowy cover to her content—and devouring every moan of approval in the interim—the Assassin at last moved to the red-hot petals beneath. She ran two fingers over each of these, soft and slow and gentle as could be. In response, Weiss leaned her head back and groaned loud to the dark ceiling, bucked her hips lightly and tried to close her thighs. Wedged between them, Ruby would not allow this.

Instead, the Assassin plunged those two fingers in to do their own exploration, initially holding back from the unbridled fury the Templar had shown.

At that, Weiss could not help herself but to yell. Mayhap even loud enough to be heard in the street below, but her mind was too far gone to care. She gave that yell until her throat became quickly hoarse, parched as she was.

The feeling was like fire blooming and consuming her, from the belly outward. Along with and immediately accompanying the fire, lightning as from a furious storm lit her every nerve and drove them to their maximum burden, nearly overloading her entirely. Smiling, watching all of this with her own form of twisted pleasure, Ruby curved those fingers up and pulled. Gently at first, and only once.

Weiss squeezed so hard with her strong thighs, the Assassin earnestly feared for her bones for a moment. Then she pushed back, opened them once more, and repeated her gesture—harder now, and thrice more. With such woeful little experience as she had, Weiss’s reaction to this was not unexpected.

The fire in her belly turned into a pressure on the first pull, tight and insistent. On the second, it bloomed into a tidal force, pushing hard against her somewhere below. With the last, Weiss had no recourse but to release. She knew not what, but she simply had to let it go.

And even as it dowsed her hand and chest alike, Ruby smiled in her victory.

 

XIX

 

What came next—what was to be the last portion of their shared dance this eve—was the only thing that _could have_ come next.

After that initial release and the Assassin’s momentary reveling over her victory, Weiss’s full truth came forward and stole the reins. The Reichsritter sprung forward, delirious and beyond herself, to toss Ruby away onto her back. Then she fell upon her, a ravenous hunger in her eyes.

Whatever the Assassin had done to her, it was a taste of the Arcanum Divinae by her reckoning. And she had to have more. _Now_.

Despite the strange direction of this, however, Ruby was not fearful. In all truth, she had been waiting their entire encounter for this. All strange feelings and wonder aside, _this_ was what she had wanted—had formed an idea and rushed plan for—upon first spotting the Templar this eve.

“It _was_ nice, wasn’t it?” She prodded the Templar, luscious in her tone.

Weiss did not answer, only smashed her face against Ruby’s and began their most heated exchange of the sort. It was ravenous, maddened, and lustful as any lover had ever managed. Adoring every bit of it, Ruby returned the gesture with due force and vigor, spearing her tongue into the Templar’s mouth. Weiss did the same and they intertwined, wrestling and feeling of each other, as she moved to sit on one of Ruby’s thighs.

Ruby gasped hard when she felt Weiss’s knee press against her core not a moment after, but the Templar did not relent. It was wild and it was passioned beyond reason, but the kneading against her was not painful. Even as rough as it quickly became, Ruby’s response was only to groan in ecstasy and wet her eve-lover’s knee with approval.

Hardly a minute of this passed before Weiss became dissatisfied. Wanting more knowledge, more reaction, _more wonder_ , she moved one hand down to her Assassin’s left breast. Under her caressing touch, she could feel the taxed heart once more, racing deathly fast. Still dissatisfied, Weiss broke the kiss and looked upon her, thinking what to do next.

The Assassin’s face was a mess. Red with passion, hair splayed all across her eyes that gleamed with want. A trail of spittle at each corner of her battered mouth, running down her splotchy cheeks. Now completely lost to it all, Weiss found this sight to only further her.

She bent down as if to kiss again, to which Ruby gladly readied herself. At the last moment, with viper swiftness, Weiss diverted and clasped her teeth to the woman’s neck. It was gentle enough as she bit down, but Ruby couldn’t distinguish this herself. The suddenness of it was too much, and Weiss was rewarded with another wave of wet heat to her knee for the effort.

Riding the crest of the moment, Weiss began to grind herself on the Assassin’s thigh, crying her raptured moans between her teeth against Ruby’s neck.

It was perhaps ten minutes of this feverish, sweating bedlam in which muted but passionate moans filled the air of the derelict house. Ruby’s strong fingers explored every bare inch of the Reichsritter’s flesh, even reaching up to tangle in her silvery tresses and pull lightly at them. Weiss continued her wanton gnashing of teeth on the Assassin’s neck, only barely withholding herself from injurious pressure, as she ground herself against her with ever more vigor.

At last, with both crying out whatever it was that lay in their deepest selves—the name of some Saint or another for the Reichsritter, the name of her eve-lover for the Assassin—the acme came to them both and washed them into its cosmic embrace.

Weiss stiffened and released her bite so as not to hurt the woman beneath, then arched her back and yelled at the darkness. Beneath her, something warm flowed free as though a flooding river, and the truest form of exaltation she’d ever known came upon her. Weiss rode this for only a moment before her fatigue and the foreign exertion overtook her, propelling the Reichsritter through a quick descent into unconsciousness. Yet, just before it claimed her entirely, she managed to look down at the Assassin.

_Ruby Rose… you amazing fiend, you…_

Her icy eyes met the Assassin’s silver and this thought raced through her flagging mind, then Weiss fell over her, given to the hands of exhausted sleep.

Ruby lay calmly beneath for a moment, basking in the afterglow of the truest intimacy she had ever known. When some control returned to her, she wrapped her arms about the Templar and took a deep breath, filling herself with the whole of it.

“Assassins one, Templars zero.” Ruby whispered to herself.

 

XX

 

Assassin and Templar—the furthest thing from lovers one could find in this world, and the most synonymous words for enemy known to man—lay there in that derelict house, warm and spent in each other’s arms. The bell tolled the fifth hour of the morning not long after their passioned waltz had finished. The fourth had gone entirely unheard through the madness of it.

When that toll sounded, Ruby looked at the face of the woman in her arms. No longer simply a Templar or a Reichsritter of the Orthodoxy, she felt something akin to pity for her. Weiss was fast asleep by now, her face smooth and smiling with what Ruby hoped was a good dream of some sort or another. And she wanted to join her, in that peaceful slumber that followed such transcendent acts as these.

But the air was cold in the derelict house, and she knew she could not do so as they were. Beyond just the cold there was the ruckus they had made. Though none would dare venture to investigate at this hour, she knew someone would eventually have a look around. Maybe she should just leave the woman, being that she was a Templar.

Thinking on that for only a moment, Ruby decided she simply couldn’t do such.

Instead, she maneuvered the woman to lay her on the cold wood floor. Once she was sure Weiss would not wake, she stood and looked around the room. Derelict or not, she managed to find a few mostly intact covers. Nothing so nice as this Templar was accustomed to, not by far, but at least enough to keep them warm.

Ruby spread one out on the floor and folded it in half longways, then laid out the other two beside it. She gathered the slumbering Weiss into her arms and set both of them on the folded one. Once she and her eve-lover were stretched out and—Ruby hoped—mostly comfy, she tossed the other covers over them. Wrapped up and with bedding beneath, Ruby clutched her Templar close and held her tight, hoping it would be enough to stave off the cold.

They slumbered so for the last of the morning. Templar held tight in Assassin’s arms, both giving whispered snores into the other’s ear. Had any been there to see, it would surely have been an amazing sight to behold. By some grace, much as Ruby had hoped, they both dreamed of pleasant things for their few hours of sleep. Warming things, loving things, and things that brought good will to both their hearts…

 

Λ

**_And it was good, indeed._ **

 

The End


End file.
